UNVEILED
by syrai
Summary: sequel to the QUESTION trilogy! What happens when Pyro is forced to reappear and the nearly perfect life Marie has created for seemingly clueless Shelby changes dramatically? RYRO.
1. sorry go 'round

**TITLE:** SORRY GO 'ROUND

**FANDOM:** X-Men

**RATING:** Rish

**WORD COUNT:** about 5868

**WARNINGS:** some language and violence

**PAIRING:** implied Rogue/Pyro

**SUMMARY:** "Look, Rogue, let me be honest with you," the woman speaks bluntly and Shelby can only barely swallow the pained sound, a yelp, trying to climb up her throat, "First of all, have you never ever wondered what the letter M stands for?"

**PROMPT:** 026 trauma

**TABLE:** HERE

sequel to **the question trilogy**

A/N: Okay, um, I have a few things to say and therefore ---

1. I'm probably not the only one who felt The Question Trilogy needs a sequel - no? I thought so. Seriously speaking, I'd hate myself if I left the storyline hanging like that… although, really... that's just my lame excuse. In reality I adore Shelby too much not to write.

2. Special thanks to

· saint's hands (my X-Men Comics Consultant, honestly) who once again helped me with shit load of little details as well as the twists and plots. I haven't read the comics (only a few) and she has and therefore I sort of lean on her… a lot. She's the best, dude, and without her input I'd probably never get anything done. Ever.

· smartasschef14 (livejournal) for trying to do the impossible and correct my grammar. Again.

3. Emma Frost is a complete mystery to me - I'd never even heard of her before F mentioned her to me so in case she's all fucked and not even remotely like herself (well, as canon as she in this universe can be), then I'm sorry. Or, really, I'm not, but I can pretend if you want me to. Or if you pay. Oh and, I've taken liberties to mess around her abilities in case you were wondering.

4. This is supposed to be three parts (as in, three fics) long, much like the previous trilogy, but as it is me writing, you never know. Plus, I'm gonna post all the fics (because yeah, they're written as separate fics for a reason I cannot be bothered to explain - let's just say it's because they're written for a challenge, okay?) as one multi-chaptered fic.

5. I was somehow inspired by POETS OF THE FALL and especially by the song "sorry go 'round" - don't ask me why, though, because I have no idea.

6. It may not seem like Rogue/Pyro, but I assure you, it will. You didn't think Pyro would just watch from afar and let all this happen, did you?

AND: reviews make me glee.

DISCLAIMER: The characters you know from X-Men (both movieverse as well as the comics)? NOT MINE. The characters you don't recognize, at all? Guess whose?

**SORRY GO 'ROUND**

Her last name is D'Ancanto and she damn well knows that. She's grown up with it so of course she does and she's even proud of that, of her name and her heritage, but sometimes, when no one's watching and she knows Mom isn't going to be home anytime soon… that's when she unleashes her imagination and plays mind games with another possibility. The kind that creates a mischievous smirk on her lips and at the same time, makes her skin crawl for no apparent reason. It's not like she'd change her name if given the opportunity, but come on, who doesn't like to dream and pretend every once in a while?

In that department Shelby D'Ancanto is just like every other 12 year old kid in the world. It's the part where she's a mutant with the gift of creating fire that sets her apart from the most crowd. Although, inside the walls of her school, she's one of the many and the ability to mess around with fire, it only makes her super cool.

Seriously, on a scale from 4-10, she totally scores 11. Sometimes she wonders how much cooler she'd be if they simply knew the whole truth. Perhaps she'd get 15 then, possibly even 16 - or at least she calculates so… and that simple calculation she bases solely, and sourly, on the memory of that _stupid_ Amara Aquilla girl scoring 17 damn points last year just because she can generate and control lava. Who cares about stupid lava? No one.

But her secret?

For one, it totally explains why all her best friends went to _Charles Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters_ whereas she, despite the many arguments she had with her mother about it, did not.

Instead, she ended up into another academy much like Xavier's school. Only difference that she can think of is the fact hers goes by the name of _House of M_ - so far it's actually been good. Being around other mutants; it feels like a consolation price of a sort, but one that she'll gladly accept when offered.

At school, they've all heard about him, heard the whispers of what he was and of what he became, and it kills her -every single day- that she can't even brag.

If only, for once in her life, she could take part in a conversation regarding him and tell them, everyone, that really, if her parents had got hitched like she wishes they had, her surname would actually be _Allerdyce_, not D'Ancanto.

Well, the good thing is, no one would probably even believe her... The downside is that she'd have the power to change their minds. With her ability she could _totally_ prove it.

It's rather logical, at least to her it is, that the daughter of the infamous Pyro would possess the same natural talent of her father's and so they'd _have_ to believe. Especially since her mother has no powers, at all, which makes her _ordinary._ Not that she minds, because no matter what, she loves her mother - more than anything in the whole wide world. More than the _thought_ of him and that says a lot.

Though, the rumors which she's heard about ten hundred times and more, they say that _he_ actually can't create fire, only manipulate it and she's not sure what to think of that.

On the other hand, that sucks a little because rumors like that kind of takes away from his magic. But then… on the other? It sort of makes her even cooler, doesn't it? Because she sure as hell _can_ create it.

But if Dad knew about her and her power, he'd be damn proud and that's all the comfort she needs to get by.

She's heard about the Brotherhood, they've talked about its history and timeline vaguely at school a few times, but Shelby refuses to believe all the things they say about it. Besides, even if all the things the adults have said when they've been under the impression there are no kids around, even if all _that_ was true, then so what? It was before - before he joined them.

And Mom always says that the past doesn't mean anything, but that it's the future that counts.

She doesn't always listen to her mother, especially when the conversation has something to do with bedtimes, vegetables or why shoplifting is bad and how it'll get her grounded every single time, but occasionally the woman _does_ know what she's talking about and Shelby has no issues when it comes to admitting that.

"Honey?" Speak of the devil - it's the hollering voice of one Marie D'Ancanto coming from downstairs that shatters the moment radically. The piece of paper in Shelby's hands gets quickly thrown into the steely trashcan and only a second later, it flares up and then, burns to dust. The last thing she wants her mother to see is a postage filled with different variations of all the possible ways to write down _Shelby D'Ancanto, Shelby Allerdyce_ and, of course, _Shelby D'Ancanto-Allerdyce._

Because honestly, Shelby would rather shoplift and get caught red-handed, _again,_ than let Marie know her daughter dug up the one and only secret she's been trying to protect since before the day she gave birth.

"Honey? You home?" The second time she hears her voice, this time colored with slight worry and uncertainty, the girl finally makes a move. "I'm coming!" She yells back, pushes her chair away from the desk while getting up and rushes off the room. She even gets half-way down the stairs before running into Marie.

A pair of arms close around her immediately, pulling her close and Shelby doesn't even consider protesting like many girls of her age would. Instead, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, enjoying.

She's never figured out why, not that she'd even given it much thought, but just the smell of her mother has always been enough to calm her nerves down - no matter what the cause.

"Well, it's definitely the funkiest way to welcome one home," Marie speaks then, pushing the girl a little farther. With adoring look, she cups Shelby's face with both hands and gives her a pointed smile, adding, "but honey, think we could move off the stairs before I fall down and break my neck?"

"It figures," Shelby snorts dramatically, but with laughing eyes and a hint of smile tugging at her lips, "it's always _your_ neck that matters."

The statement draws out a deep, rolling laughter from the older D'Ancanto and a malicious smirk from the younger. With a wide grin -and completely ignoring the damned images that familiar smirk on the child's lips arise-, Marie lands a kiss on the top of her daughter's head before shrugging nonchalantly and says, "I would argue, but we both know it indeed is the prettiest neck in the house."

"Only," Shelby starts, tilting her head, "because mine hasn't fully developed yet. Give it some time, Mom, 'cause I'll catch up with you for sure."

Marie smiles, but it's easy for Shelby to notice how there's something sad, protected about her smile when she replies softly, "Yeah, never doubted that one for a sec, dear."

They're not talking about her neck anymore, are they? It's the tone of her mother's voice and that smile -sad and longing-, both telling Shelby to damn all the possible consequences and just _do it_ without thinking. It's obvious Marie is thinking about _him_, because he's the only one who can bring that hollowness into her eyes, and this would be such a perfect window to ask about him. Smoothly.

But before Shelby can come up with the most perfect way to be _smooth_ about it, like she knows she has to be if she wants to succeed, the moment's gone and Marie's already turned around.

"I'm gonna order pizza," she says, sounding tired, and Shelby can tell it's simply her way of changing the course of the previous moment, "and I suspect you have no-"

"Nuh huh," Shelby assures right away, shaking her head, "no complaints from here."

"Good," Marie throws over her shoulder while descending the stairs, "'cause I cannot be bothered to cook today."

"Good," Shelby retorts somewhat automatically, the way she always does and follows her mother into the kitchen, "'cause I cannot be bothered to lie about its quality today."

It's not that her mother can't cook well… It's that she can't cook at all. That, however, has never bothered neither Marie or Shelby, but it is something she loves to throw at her mother's face just for meaningless fun.

"You're such a smart-ass, kiddo," Marie laughs, grabbing the phone from the wall and hitting speed-dial. It's always amused Shelby to no end - the fact they actually have all their favorite take-away places on speed-dial as if that was all they ate. It isn't, really, but it makes life in general a whole lot easier, according to Mom anyway and who is she to argue about the facts of life?

"Just like my father?" The question slips out so mischievously, and totally without Shelby's consent, and she's almost tempted to clap her hands on her mouth to keep it from saying anything else.

But Marie, unlike Shelby thought, doesn't seem bothered by it. The sad smile reappears hand in hand with amused glint, but that's about it and then, to Shelby's surprise, she nods and says, "Just like your father."

Shelby, she can't remember the last time they would've talked about her father. At all. No, wait, there's this one memory she's been holding onto for as long as she can tell, with them both here, in the kitchen, talking about him -fighting about him- but she can't remember any of the words exchanged. But she remembers, quite clearly, how upset Mom was afterwards and maybe that's why she promised herself she'd never ask about Dad again. Not from her, anyway.

She's tried asking Bobby - many, many times actually, but so far the man has proven to be of no use. Whenever Shelby even so much as _thinks_ of asking, this sudden tension takes a hold of his features and silences her unspoken questions before they even get a chance to come out. She's not sure how he does it, but it freaks her out and-

Is that the doorbell?

Without wasting a look on her mother who's still on the phone, Shelby practically runs to the door. Well, there's only one person who would come to their door this late - and she's counting on that.

When the doorbell rings three times in a row before she gets to the door, she already knows she was right. The impatient ringing always gives it away.

Mom always says she should peek out from the window to see who it is, just in case because you never know what's out there, but if Mom isn't there standing behind her back, _watching, _Shelby never bothers to go through with the ritual. Instead, she usually pulls the door open and like now, with a delighted shriek, leaps against the guest in excitement.

Logan only smirks, lifting her better up into his arms and steps over the threshold like the owner of the house. She's not as light as she used to be, he can tell, but it's no issue and he figures, it never will.

"What ya up to, kiddo?" He asks and closes the door with the heel of his boot. Logan, he always calls her kiddo, much like Mom does and Shelby's convinced that's from where she picked it up.

"Besides bothering Mom?" She questions, pensive, "Nothing much."

The reply earns a chuckle from him - and a slight shake of head. He carries her to the kitchen and she wonders why he never ever has to ask where Mom is. How can he always know her exact spot no matter where she is? It's just as unnerving as the fact he seems to be able to smell her lies a mile away. Though, really, usually that's no problem and therefore she doesn't mind; Logan isn't the type to rat her out unless she's done something really, really bad.

Which she has, occasionally.

"Should've known you've been bad, firestarter," he returns, almost as if he had read her mind and she could go on with it, make funny comments all night, but she doesn't want to. She's too curious to know-

"Where you been, Logan?" She asks, "Mom kept asking around for like two weeks and you know how she gets when she's worried. It was hell on earth."

"Sorry," Logan says, but she knows he doesn't mean it.

Then, without him saying anything, giving no explanations, she is gently dropped on her own two feet. Marie's done with the phone call and is now cleaning the dinner table with a rag, but the moment she sees Logan, her face lights up and the cloth falls from her fingers. Shelby can't help but smile.

"Logan!" Then it's Marie's turn to hug him and Shelby simply watches the moment, happy. It's nice, the freeing effect he always seems to have on Marie and she hates to admit that the only way it could be better is if it was _him_ instead. That particular train of thought makes her feel guilty every single time, though and so she usually tries to steer clear from it.

"Where the hell have you been?" Not knowing, Marie repeats the exact same question as her daughter, although with a bit harsher language. It brings a smirk to Shelby's face.

"Around," he says, shrugging, "here and there."

Yeah, sure, as if Mom would actually let that reply slide...

As expected, Marie takes a step back and crosses her arms. Oh, boy - Shelby knows what that look combined with _that_ posture mean. Despite the fact Mom is damn happy to see her old friend, Logan is still in for a massive amount of trouble. Well, this time Shelby agrees with Mom, because yeah, he most definitely deserves it after vanishing without a word. You don't do that to your family and that's exactly what she considers him to be.

"Well, doesn't 'here and there' have any phones?" Marie prompts, eyes narrowing the way they always do when she's riled up, "You know I've been worried sick about you and the least you could've done is like, I dunno, call and let me know you're still in one piece." The comment makes Logan snort in obvious amusement and roll his eyes - and that in turn makes Shelby frown. What was so funny about that, huh?

"Kiddo, don't lecture an old man," Logan sighs then, but like Shelby, he too knows well enough to keep all signs of annoyance inside, "I've been around long enough to know I can take care of myself."

Marie shrugs, but now there's a weak smile hanging on her lips, "Still," she says, clearly giving up on anger, "We missed you."

"Well," Logan grunts back like a caveman would, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Indeed, but, "For how long?" Shelby cuts in, growing suddenly worried. Sure, she loves to hear him tell lively stories about the journeys he's made, about the things he's seen, but it doesn't change the fact she never wants him to go.

"Don't plan on leaving any time soon," Logan replies, but something in the way he says it, in the tone used, tells Shelby it's nothing but a big fat lie. Whatever it is that's going on, it's something big.

And then? Her skin crawls unexpectedly, cold shivers traveling from her head to toes. That's when she notes the way his face suddenly changes and they watch him sniff the air like he often does and hear him say, "Something's up."

A moment goes by in utter silence but soon enough it's broken by the recurring sound of the doorbell.

Logan sniffs again, only stronger this time and then glances at Marie. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No," Shelby replies before Marie can say anything - is it just her imagination or did her mother just go completely pale? Well, anyway, "I mean, besides the pizza delivery guy, but there's no way he could've been this fast, because you know, he's always late and that's why we always get a discount and once he-"

"I got the point, kid," Logan interrupts her speeding rambling, "Simple no would've worked."

Right. Of course... But Shelby rarely goes for simple and he should've learnt that by now.

The doorbell rings again and when Marie still doesn't move, or even seem like she'll attempt to any time soon, Logan takes the lead. Which, really, doesn't surprise Shelby at all, because that's the way he is. Logan always takes the lead, even when Marie doesn't want him to and on most times, it leads into a verbal fight very similar to a small world war.

But it's not like Logan would take a hint and learn of his mistakes when it comes to macho male-stuff like that. At least that's what Mom once said.

"Stay here with her, kiddo," Logan orders and though she usually would, this time Shelby doesn't argue. For one, she isn't quite sure if the command was directed to her or Marie and either way, someone's gotta stay and take care of Mom... because seriously, she's gone about as ashen as her skunk stripes and that's never promising. On most cases it involves vomit.

What in the world is going on with her, huh?

Logan's already at the door and if she tries really, really hard, Shelby can almost hear the soft tones of a female voice. She can't make out the words, at all, but it's definitely a woman at their doorstep.

"Marie?"

It's Logan, obviously, and this time his voice seems to snap the woman out of it - whatever it was. She blinks a few times and inhales sharply - almost as if she'd been without air since the first rang of the doorbell and who knows, perhaps she was. Wouldn't be a first.

Shelby doesn't speak, only watches how Marie swallows and wets her lips before clearing her throat. She's seen this act so many times before that she knows all the little gestures by heart. Mom, she's simply collecting herself, taking back the control of the lost moment.

And when she's done, she looks as normal as she always does and-

"_Marie?_" Logan calls out, impatient, and when she replies, there are no traces of the previous collapse in her voice, "In a minute!" she shouts her reply and then turns to Shelby, who's now sucking her bottom lip rather pensively.

"Stay here," Marie says firmly, echoing Logan's earlier command and Shelby shrugs, not bothering to come up with a retort. But come on... where the hell do they think she'd go, honestly?

And so she's left alone. Left into the kitchen, alone... left wondering what's going on and whether it was _Dad_ that Mom pictured standing behind the door a moment ago.

It would've been kind of cool, huh? - Though that doesn't make any sense to her, at all. Because if she had; if Mom did think it was Dad making an appearance after all these years, then why did she look like she was about to be sent to Hell's Gates?

Must find out. And Shelby, she knows exactly how to attempt that.

Sure, she was ordered to stay put... but surely they didn't mean she can't walk around in her own home. What if she needs to go to the bathroom?

Still, careful not to make any avoidable sound, she forgets all about the command and sneaks through the kitchen door, towards the lobby and stops at the other end of the empty living-room, close enough to hear what is said in the space located on the other side of the wall.

The conversation seems to be heated, despite the fact it's spoken with low volume.

The first thing she clearly hears is Marie's voice, saying, "No, thank you, but I'm not interested." She sounds... cold. That's odd.

The stranger lets out a cynical laugh sounding just as cold; the kind meant to act only as an ice dagger thrown at Marie, meant to hurt. Yeah, the kind of laughter that would've only a few months ago undoubtedly made Shelby torch the sofa. Whoops. Lucky for, well, everyone in their neighborhood, for everyone in their lives, a few anger management lessons took care of _that_ little problem pretty quickly.

"Oh, you aren't?" The baiting voice asks then and as a reflex Shelby, she sends out a short prayer, wishing Logan would do what he always does and smack the owner of that _damn_ voice for being so damn annoying and _mean_. Preferably hard and a few times in a row.

Shelby actually expects Marie to speak up -no one talks like that to a D'Ancanto and gets away with it-, but surprisingly, it's the stranger who rambles on, "Why, I thought finding a different school would be your top priority," she continues almost immediately and Shelby can just _tell_ it's not gonna be good, "considering you've without knowing put your daughter into a school run by the Brotherhood, I figured you might be. I always thought you X-Men were, well, how would I put? _Above_ that?"

Shelby's mind draws a full-fledged blank. Huh? Her mother has put a what where?

Because for a moment there, as stupid as it is, it sounded like the woman had implied that Marie, her mother, had not only put her, _Shelby_, into a school run by the group she considers to be evil but that... she, her mother, would be part of X-Men.

Which in itself is totally ridiculous and so not possible, because in order for one to be an X-Man, you'd have to _be_ a mutant and well, everyone knows that is something Marie D'Ancanto is not.

That chick, she's some looney who's lost her marbles.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marie denies then, after a small pause, but something in her tone creates a wrinkle on Shelby's forehead. What, she's lying? She _does_ know, doesn't she?

The confusion comes in nearly suffocating waves and Shelby has no clue what statement to pick apart first. They all seem equally impossible, anyway.

"Look, _Rogue_, let me be honest with you," the woman speaks bluntly and Shelby can only barely swallow the pained sound, a yelp, trying to climb up her throat, "First of all, have you never ever wondered what the letter M stands for?"

That's when Logan's limits are finally met and Shelby can imagine, even without seeing it happen, how his face looks when he growls and grabs her arms to push her towards the still open door.

"That's enough, Frost," he drawls, angry and ready for a fight, "get out."

But unlike one would think, she's not that easy to get rid of, not at all.

He manages to get the petite blond out the door into the veranda, but that's when she decides to quit the games and put up a fight. Only, it's not a fight at all, because she seems to have no issues holding her ground against Logan. Like it was nothing, she grabs his arms and somehow -though Shelby can't understand it, because Logan is the strongest guy she's ever known- somehow the woman manages to stay rooted on the spot.

"No, seriously," she tells mockingly and clearly amused as her skin gains a weird kind of glow. It seems she's not a bit bothered by the fact Logan's still at her face, growling and trying to push her further from her shocked mother, "Think about that for a second, will you?"

Marie, then again, is standing there in the lobby like a stone statue and simply stares at the figure in her front yard trying to decide her next step - but it's decided for her, because at that point Shelby can no longer hold it in.

"Mom?" She shrieks, voice weak and trembling, "_Mom?_" She steps around the corner at the same time as Marie spins around on her heels.

Her mouth opens and closes and then opens again as if she was struggling with the words, like they refused to come out and-

"Yes, _Rogue_, honestly," _Frost_ snickers, shoving Logan forcefully off her, "you might wanna tell her who and what her real parents are!"

Then, the one thing Shelby has never expected to see, happens. Frost, she shoves Logan one more time and this time he actually _falls_.

That's when it occurs to both Marie and Logan that _something_ really has to be done, right now, or else-

"Marie," Logan growls, knuckles opening and claws appearing, "go!"

Shelby can only stare.

But this time her mother doesn't stay clueless - she comes to life and reacts. Perhaps the motherly instincts kick in, the will to survive and protect, Shelby doesn't know what it is, but a moment later she's being grabbed by the wrist and being dragged forward.

And all the young girl can see in front of her eyes; all she can think about, while being led towards the backdoor in the kitchen, is the image of Logan and the _claws_ she just saw appear.

It's not that she's never seen anything like that happen before - she can create fire out of thin air, okay, so claws appearing out of nowhere is not that unusual.

But claws appearing out of _Logan's_ knuckles, well, _that_ most certainly is unusual.

Very much like her mother being called _Rogue_.

Because everyone knows who Rogue is and that's not her mother. It isn't.

The fingers wrapped around her wrist are gripping so tight it hurts, but it's nothing compared to the painful feeling of something squeezing her heart. The running, she realizes coming to, they're still running.

When did they get out through the backdoor, she has no idea, but there they are, in the middle of the streets, _running._

"Come on, baby," Marie pleads in between breaths when Shelby's pace suddenly slows down, "you've got to run."

She has no idea why they have to run so hard, but the desperation in Marie's voice leaves no room for questioning. And so she tells her body to stop whining and runs, as fast as she possibly can and-

Marie is the first and only one to smack against something hard, but the collision flies her backwards and she pulls Shelby with her, on the ground.

She whimpers and Shelby doesn't know why and there's no time to ask, because Marie is already forcing them both up, telling her to stop crying and start running again, because _baby, everything's gonna be okay_-

"No, it isn't," a voice says and there's no doubts about to whom it belongs. _Frost_.

Shelby's fingers close around the hem of Marie's shirt while her head presses against Marie's back. She's shaking, shaking so damn hard that Marie can almost hear the rapid beating of her heart and smell the fear.

Everything, it's too much and Shelby can't watch, can't deal.

Which, Marie figures after fully registering the sight in front of her, is probably for the best considering her mental health. It's more or less at stake already, anyway.

The smirking mutant -oh yes, Marie's come to the conclusion _it_ indeed is a mutant and a crazy one too- in which she slammed against, is bleeding all over her white outfit, deep red claw marks decorating her face and one can only wonder how she's still standing. Or where Logan is... no, can't go there, can't think about that, gotta focus on the moment-

And yet, despite the pain Marie is convinced the woman feels, there's a glorious smirk twisting the mutant's mouth as if there was no blood at all.

"What the fuck do you want?" Marie spits, furious, because if this is another stunt pulled by John than she's gonna murder that bitch and her boss and-

"Oh hush with that kind of language, darling," Frost barks and the thing that amazes Marie is the fact she sounds as if she was scolding a bad behaved kid, "And stop screaming like that, alright?"

Screaming like what?

"Blaming Pyro really isn't gonna get you out of this situation, now is it?"

A telepath, Marie realizes and just like that, all the hope she might have had buried somewhere deep within, vanishes to thin air. She's facing a damn telepath - great.

Where are _his_ fucking gorillas when you need them?

"Oh," the _bitch_ replies, the probably forever-malicious smirk still plastered on her face, "they're napping, sort of."

Of course. Trust John _fucking_ Allerdyce to find the kind of idiots who can't even beat one damn telepath bitch.

It's amazing, really. How the Brotherhood has managed to survive this long, it's a damn miracle.

"I agree, it is. I wouldn't like him much right now, either," Frost responds, grimacing and the indifferent way she tosses a lock of blond hair over her shoulder makes Marie want to bounce her, "In fact, I _don't_ like him, period."

Yes, well, join the fucking club.

"He's a fuck up, a failure and honestly, how you ever ended up in bed with that shithead is beyond my understanding... " her voice lingers there, but not for long, because naturally she's not done with the subtle insults yet, "but hey," she continues perkily, "to each her own, right?"

Okay, interestingly put. Could it be this whack-job in the sluttiest outfit Marie has ever laid eyes on, is actually one of _Pyro_'s abandoned sluts in a war path towards revenge?

"Don't call me a slut!" Frost snaps angrily and Marie snorts (because seriously, _who_ in their right mind wears a dress that revealing?) and tells her, "If you don't want people to think that, then maybe you should every once in a while glance a mirror on your way out."

"Hey," the mutant throws back, "you're the one he walked out on. Don't blame it on me."

Um, _what?_ She hadn't-

"It sounded like you did," Frost supplies tonelessly.

"You," Marie stresses in obvious disbelief, "are fucking insane."

Whatever happened to the type of enemies that instead of chatting, prefer killing in silence? And well, is it weird Marie herself _prefers_ those, because my gods, this skank is driving _her_ insane. Been there, done that, no need for a repeat.

"Insane? Yes, that's what they keep telling me," Frost sighs like the drama queen she is, "It doesn't change the fact you're about to suffer, though..." And then, of all things, she chuckles happily to whatever thought it was that happened to cross her mind, "Or to think of it, maybe it _is_ the reason you're going to suffer, I don't know, but if you'd only agreed to send the kid to one damn school, we wouldn't be here."

Well, it wasn't like she appeared on her doorstep and told her what to do - _or else._ No, not once during that short conversation of theirs, did she mention what would happen if Marie didn't agree to pull Shelby out of her current school and send to another, and honestly, what kind of idiot is she anyway?

"So you actually believed that I would, knowingly, ship my daughter off to some school founded by a gang of terrorists?" Marie snorts and this time it's her turn to make a mocking face, "Oh, yeah, how silly of me. Of course I'd do that."

The telepath snarls and it becomes clear to Marie that Frost, she loves icy comments, but only when they're coming from her.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," she says with a straight face and for a moment there Marie, as much as she hates it, is almost scared. Because you don't annoy a crazy person and survive - every one knows that… but when the said crazy person is attacking you and therefore a real threat to your only child, it's kind of hard not to bite back.

"How surprising," Marie retorts through gritted teeth, "because I sincerely thought I could talk myself out of this, but oh well-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Frost snaps and takes an irate step closer, eyes flashing dangerously and Marie can barely keep herself from backing up, which is exactly what every fiber of her being demands her to do. To run and get away, to get Shelby to safety... But to be realistic, what are the odds of _that_ working out as planned? Even if she did try anything as risky as running, she'd most likely only end up knocking Shelby on the ground and well, Marie is somewhat sure the girl's suffered trauma huge enough for one day - no need to add the raw murder of her mother's into the list of traumas.

"You know what?" the blond mutant asks, grinning viciously and really, Marie _does_ know, "I thought I could be nice. I thought I could simply take the kid and leave you to your pain 'cause it would've been painful, I know that for sure. But at least you would've been alive…" she pauses, but only for an effect, "now, however, I'm thinking I'd much rather kill you and-"

That's as far as she gets - all the sudden there's a bright light and it momentarily forces Marie to shield her eyes with her hand, blinding her sight at once. But her closed eyes, they don't make much of a difference; she hears the pained cry coming from Frost anyway and she can smell the familiar scent of _fire._

Oh my god - _Shelby!_

Indeed, only then she realizes that Shelby isn't behind her anymore; her hands have left Marie's shirt and the strong chin is no longer digging into her backbone like it was a moment ago.

Her eyes snap open instantly, ignoring the light and the pain it might cause-

But it doesn't matter, doesn't hurt because the light is gone and all that it has left behind, is an image that will forever stay, be forever burned into Marie's consciousness.

Frost is on her kneels and Shelby... she's moved in front of her, both hands on her face and she's taking such strong, heaving breaths that you would think there's no air anywhere near.

But her mother knows better - it's not the lack of air that's making her gasp.

Because my gods, the horrified -_drained_- look on Frost's face; Marie recognizes it immediately and how could she not? She's seen it too many damn times in the past, but never like this, never as an outsider. Her shaking hands travel up to cover her mouth in shock.

It only takes a few seconds before the woman falls on the ground with a loud thud - unconscious or dead, Marie doesn't know nor care at that point, and a moment later the little girl follows.

But unlike the psychotic telepath, she's got someone there to grab her before she hits the dirt.


	2. welcome home

**PROMPT: **035 lithium

**A/N:** COHEED&CAMBRIA rocks my world. And FYI, so does their song 'WELCOME HOME' ::grins::

**WELCOME HOME**

The coldness has eaten its way into her bones, to her spine; dug a hole in there somewhere, and Marie doesn't think it'll ever go away again. No, of course it won't, and she's gonna feel cold and empty 'til the day she dies because that's how the real world works. There truly are no happy endings.

The bedroom in which she sits, at the end of a massive four-poster bed hands in her lap, is expensively furnished and huge, but those are the last things on her mind right now. At least they should be. Still, weirdly enough, she remembers vaguely that when she first entered said room earlier that night, her mind had momentarily stopped to make a mental note that had absolutely nothing to do with the current situation. If it had been day, she thought then, the whole space would've bathed in warm, bright light and it would've looked _beautiful._

But it's not day and so the only light illuminating the otherwise dark room is the moon's, filtering through the blinds and creating stripes all over.

She feels like crying, but hasn't been able to shed a tear and she wonders whether that's a good sign or bad. Maybe, she figures, she's still in shock.

Not that she'd be the only one. Marie doesn't know where John went after placing their daughter into a bathtub filled with cold water and ice cubes - and well, asking hadn't occurred to her when he'd exited the bathroom and left them into the questionable safety of his suite.

Marie had sat there next to her daughter, on the bathroom's tile floor for as long as she could, but after an hour or so she'd been ruthlessly forced to get out. Forced to escape the heat and the flames. That, having to flee the room for _that_, it'd actually hurt more than she could've imagined. Never before had the girl used her powers that aggressively, never unconscious… and never, ever, on her mother. Now she'd done all three simultaneously.

That, she realizes, was about ten minutes ago so actually, maybe she really should go back and check on her. Just in case.

Slowly, as if in slow-motion, Marie wills herself to move, to get up. Take a step, walk, go to the door.

Every step seems to drain her energy more and more and she doesn't really understand why her body is putting up such a fight. Why the hell is she so hesitant to go see her own kid when really, she's the only thing Marie can't imagine living without? And Shelby, despite everything, she _needs_ her mother, now more than ever, and what kind of a person does it make her, if she bails on her child because she's _afraid_.

What is she afraid of anyway? Of what'll happen or afraid of… her?

Because the latter? That'd suck.

When she finally reaches the bathroom's door, she presses her ear carefully against its wooden surface. There are no sounds to be heard, no whimpers, no nothing and so she concludes it's safe enough for her to enter now.

But instead of walking in like she planned to, Marie only pushes the door open, revealing the sight that breaks her heart every time she sees it.

Shelby, she's in the bathtub with a pained grimace shadowing her face, clothes on and trembling.

Though, really, Marie isn't stupid enough to think she'd be trembling out of sheer coldness like she is, because the water is practically boiling now and all she wants to do is go there, pull the plug and _rescue_ her. But then, that wouldn't rescue her at all, now would it? As far as Marie knows and according to the doctors, it might make everything worse instead and she can't risk that. Can't risk her life.

She doesn't notice the slight shift of air around her, not before it's too late - a pair of very familiar arms sneak up and around her, capturing her, pulling close and she simply lets him. John, he feels unbearably warm against her back, almost as if his insides were on fire, burning, but she only wants more. It's so fucking cold, okay? She just wants to be warm again.

Unexpectedly his head comes down to meet the nape of her neck and she can feel his breath against her cold skin… her eyes close, but the weird thing is that unlike a moment ago when she was all alone, she can breathe freely again. His hands travel from her stomach to her middle, slowly, and as they do, the grip only tightens. She frowns, eyes still closed, when she hears him draw in a breath… hears him sniff. What the… Well, she definitely didn't see _that_ one coming.

Marie has no idea what's happening or why, really, but it's not the right time for the questions yet. Mainly, because she has no idea what the damned questions are or should be and even if she did, she's too tired to ask them anyway because-

Her brain is shutting down.

He seems to notice this, the way her body gives in and relaxes against his, and that's when he opens his mouth to murmur, "don't worry, I'll take _care_ of it." But the comment isn't comforting like one would think - and it isn't even meant to be. It, like the tone used and the man using it, is cruel and cynical, full of poison and bitterness and its only purpose in life is to throw Marie off. She knows this; she can hear it.

And it does upset her, by reminding her of what happened a long, long time ago. Reminds her of what's behind and between them, has always been. With that realization, her eyes snap open and she tries to elbow him off, angry. To her surprise, John doesn't fight; no, instead, he opens his arms lifting them in mock-surrender and takes a step backwards, giving her enough room to spin around.

Spin she does. So fast, in fact, that she almost loses her ground and stumbles a little, but she barely notices it.

"Don't," she says, voice edgy and yet desperate somehow, "don't blame me for this!"

She knows he'll tilt his head in about a second, give her a pointed look of mock and anger, and then step all over her with a simple smirk. That's what he always does.

John, as she assumed, tilts his head while stuffing his hands into his pockets and the look on his face, hell, it cuts right through her soul. He's furious and he's furious at _her_ and shit, he has no right to be, because-

"I didn't do this!" She spits with something heavy pressing her throat, "It isn't my fault!"

John's - no, _Pyro's_ jaw tenses dangerously - Pyro's, because right now, she knows it's Pyro standing in front of her, trying to keep his emotions in check, and there's absolutely no traces of John left on his features.

And well, that means she's in even deeper shit.

"She could die," he says then as if accusing her; eyes burning with the kind of hate and resentment that Marie actually shivers through and through.

"She won't," she claims in haste as if letting him say that would somehow make it true, "she won't die, 'cause you're the fucking leader of the damn Brotherhood and you've got about thousands of doctors and scientists smart enough to figure out what's wrong with her. You just had ten of them taking tests!"

Her claim, accusation, whatever it is, it makes him chuckle coldly before he tells her, "I'm not the _fucking_ leader of the _damn _Brotherhood and even if I was, it wouldn't matter. She could die, Rogue, get that?"

It takes a while before her mind can grasp his words fully. All of them. Her heart skips a beat, nearly stops and so does her breathing.

"No," she pipes, shaking her head. Of course _he_'s the leader of the Brotherhood and of course Shelby won't die. With her inherited genes, how could she? She's too stubborn, too lively, too strong, way too strong to die, way too strong, way too strong, way too-

"The doc says her body can't take it much longer," John informs the panicking woman, cutting through her primitive train of thought, bringing her back, "The kid's own powers, they're draining her."

Well, if that's the case, "Then take them away!" Marie tells, raising her voice with desperation. She takes a step forward without realizing and fails to notice the way his eyes darken at that.

"What?" John questions, uncertain, as if he was hoping he didn't hear her right… she can't honestly think he'd ever agree to that kind of shit, right? Not when it's his kid in question - no fucking way, unless it's over his dead and buried body.

She swallows hesitantly, avoiding his eyes and confirms his suspicion, whispering, "The cure." She doesn't dare to look, doesn't want to see the way his face reflects his anger - she knows damn well, even without looking, what kind of reaction she'll receive.

Shaking his head and with narrowing eyes, he growls, "No. Fucking. Way." Yeah, _that_ kind of reaction. At least he didn't slam her against the wall like she thought he would. Well, the night's young and she's got more to say.

Like, "Even if she does live through this, do you actually think she'll want to spend the rest of her life like…" she stumbles, not knowing how exactly to word it, "like that? With _that_?"

He is anything but content with her and the topic of their discussion as he hisses, teeth gritted, "It's not your decision to make."

She blinks, trying to process, trying to take it all in. Not her decision? How the hell can he say that? He's got it all wrong, so fucking wrong that now it's her anger flaring up, bright and hot.

"When it comes to saving her life," she practically shouts, "it damn well is!"

That's when her back finally connects with the wall next to the bathroom's door - _painfully_, and she realizes that his face is only inches from hers. She lets out a whimper to channel the pain out, but opposed to being helpful, the small sound coming from her throat only causes his arm to press harder against her throat and the pain does nothing but increases. His eyes are storming, so full of raw emotion that she actually stops breathing… besides, the arm on her throat really isn't helping in that department, anyway.

"Try anything like that," he snarls, eyes locked with hers to make sure she hears and understands _every_ single damn word he's about to lay out, "_anything _at all, and I will not hesitate to take you down, Rogue."

A threat, not a promise - she knows he isn't lying. He'd have her killed, or probably go as far as killing her himself just to get his way. What a fucking asshole.

She gathers all her strength into a one neat push and manages to make him budge. The arm loosens, a little, and she can once again draw air into her lungs and ask, defying, "You'd rather she die as a mutant than live as a human?"

Something in his eyes flash, saying _yes_ while the words coming out his mouth deny it, "I'm not saying that," he sighs, irritated and she notes how he glances to his side, once, before returning his gaze into her eyes, "I'm just saying it's not your fucking decision, _Roguey._"

She's about to argue, tell him to go fuck himself or something, but a sudden noise draws her attention. And his, too.

The hands retreat and she's free again.

Then she hears the same noise again, stronger, and _oh my God-_

John is the first one there, first one to kneel down next to the bathtub and grab Shelby's shoulders. He pulls her up from beneath the waving surface and with one hand presses the coughing girl against his chest while the other supports her head. She's still half way in the now hot water, hands squeezing his arms with all her might and, well, panicking.

When Marie finally comes to from the shock of hearing _her_ cough, she makes a run for the bathroom - she nearly falls due the wet tiles, but it doesn't stop her rush and she kneels down behind John, grabbing his arm in attempt to balance herself while reaching to touch her cheek. But just as her fingers graze the hotly radiating skin, she remembers the other thing, and jerks her hand away.

And she wonders, bleeding inside, if she'll ever again be able to touch her child without pain and suffering.

She's still coughing, trying to get the water out of her lungs and John? Well, _John_ is the one hushing her like he'd always been there to hush the crying child, petting the shaking girl softly and that way, leaving Marie with the option to do nothing but stare. Even when the coughing subsides and the panic seems to fade, the shaking doesn't.

"Mom?" The girl whispers, still clutching onto John and with wet hair almost hiding her eyes. But Marie, she sees them, and she sees something she's never seen before. Only, she can't put her finger on it and right now, it doesn't weight much anyway.

"It's okay, kiddo, just calm down," she tells her, resisting the urge to cup her face and kiss her forehead, "it's gonna be okay."

Shelby draws in a breath, deep, calming, and _then_ she glances to her side, taking in her surroundings fully - and realizes it actually isn't her mother she's holding onto for life.

"What-" That's as far as she gets before Marie interrupts her, saying, "that's John. You know, your-" stupid, arrogant, idiotic, cold-hearted killer of a "-father."


	3. winter in my heart

**PROMPT: **048 december

**A/N:** Okay, let's get this over and done. To those of you who read my fic-related rants on livejournal regularly, well, none of this will be new, but:

First of all? Thanks, guys, for reading and reviewing and _liking_ my stuff. That, of course, makes me glee and gloat insanely and it's definitely the reason I keep writing.

I went to bed around 11pm, slept two hours and came back so if I don't make sense, well, tough. Anyway, there's one more part to UNVEILED (series) after _this_ particular fic, unless my plans change, _but_ - fear not. For one, by the time I'm done with this series, I know for a solid fact that I have left so many little things and details unexplained and totally on purpose, too… So, to be fair, _another_ damn sequel to the _sequel_ is in order. You're asking me why I simply won't give in and continue UNVEILED with a few more fics, aren't you? Of course, if I was smart, I'd do that, BUT, I don't want to - why make everything so easy, huh? Basically, I don't want to continue the series, because the fics to come would, no matter what, break the flow of the four previous fics... um. Does that clear it up, at all?

Continuing this storyline… well, I think it's not only fair to you guys and to Shelby, but at this point, to Pyro and Rogue too, because hell - after the part following this one -, they and their relationship, if you can call it that, _deserves_ to be explored more carefully. Am I right or am I right? Well. You wouldn't know, would you? I haven't published the said final piece yet. Oh well, give me a few days ::snort::

Oh, AND, before you point out that Shelby seems totally freaky in this one… well, I _did_ mention about those details left unexplained, didn't I? Yes. I'll get to the weirdness if (and when) I actually write the follow-up fic… Or series. Or whatever it'll turn into. This is just my way of leaving you guys -hopefully- wanting more ::rolls eyes::

Man I can be confusing. Let's try again. The Question Trilogy includes three so called standalones, okay? Them being, THE QUESTION, NOT DONE YET and THE KILL. The sequel series to the Trilogy, named UNVEILED, includes the stories SORRY GO 'ROUND, WELCOME HOME, WINTER IN MY HEART and the final piece, FUEL FOR THE FIRE.

I feel insane.

**A/N #2:** This fic has very strange feel to it, I think. It just _feels_ strange, damnit! And, who is the woman mentioned? You'll have to wait and see. How evil am I, really?

**WINTER IN MY HEART**

He'd asked for _so_ little, _honestly._

At least he thought so a moment ago. So when the two mutants John ordered to stay with the _kid_ at all times knock on his door and walk into his office, ashamed, it requires all his willpower not to throw a fucking tantrum and blow them to pieces. Or, technically, torch them to ashes.

He does, however, cock his head to one side in attempt to restrain his anger - a sign the two men recognize all too well and which makes them exchange hesitant glances. At least it seems to work… breathe, swallow, and a _fucking _repeat. Eventually, it leads to calming down. Okay, there. _Good_.

"How the _fuck_ can you lose a little girl?" He demands, standing up from behind his desk. It's not like he'd asked them to grow a pair of wings and go find another planet for the mutant race to inhabit… Now, a planet where to stick the humans…now _that_ then again, is definitely a thought worth pursuing, isn't it?

Although, right this minute? Yeah, _so_, not important.

Back to business; the _burning_ glare he gives his employees makes them gulp in fear - it usually does. Pyro, he's a damn good leader to have when it comes to fighting the enemy or simply pissing someone off, they know that, but they also know you don't want to get on his black list because you don't live long if you do. And well, they're kind of fond of their lives and all. Magneto sure trained him well, didn't he?

The nearly stuttered explanations, they make John smirk - but only on the inside. On the outside he's nothing but hot, liquid anger. _Fire._

Well, the way John sees it? These guys sure as hell don't need to know what kind of thoughts he's got storming on his mind right now. It's bad enough they _know_ he once upon a time slept with a damn human and went as far as fathering a child. Unknowingly, sure, but inside their pretty little heads, no one gives a shit about that piece of info in these crowds and he can tell.

_Scarlet_ would call him paranoid -did, actually- but hey, that's what's kept him alive this long. Why throw a good thing away?

Sure, things haven't changed much. Yet. Give it some time and soon no one will remember that when he did find out about her, he chose to stay with his kind, far from her… And the more time goes by, the less they'll fear him… and well, that's not good. And, if some genius actually _does_ dig up the real reason for the distance he kept, well, _hello_ pain and suffering. Goodbye wealth and reputation.

Yeah, the truth is that if he doesn't come up with a way to preserve both the situation _and_ the fear as they are… well, things will simply get ugly, hot and damn _conflicted._ Two of those he doesn't care for, _at all_.

He sighs, returning his attention to the expectant figures in front of him.

… But when a few minutes go by without him actually _saying_ anything, the other culprit decides to try and smooth it, "She took us by surprise," he says and if he wasn't talking about a 12-year-old, it might have worked as an explanation - but in this case? Not so much. "She's surprisingly smart," he continues, not realizing how thin the ice underneath him just got, "Cunning, even."

John's eyebrow quirks in sarcasm. Surprisingly smart? Cunning? Imagine that.

Would they take it the wrong way if he snorted and rolled his eyes? Probably.

Oh well. He goes with the snort and lets the roll go.

Of course the kid's cunning and damn smart! She's got his genes, after all, so what the fuck did they expect? Idiots. Honestly, were where they when he told them, _twice_ and with the famous glare, that they shouldn't buy anything - not a damn word she says or even let her come too close? The "she's got that killer skin of her mother's now" wasn't clear enough for those dumbass jerks?

Guess not. Fine. Maybe it's time to renew the whole fucking staff, then. He can live with that.

"Go away," John barks after a moment of pensive silence, startling the shaky mutants, "I'll find her myself. Just don't let Rogue know she's missing, alright?" The last thing he needs is Rogue breathing down on his neck like the little mommy tiger she is. He's had his fair share of that already, okay? Yeah, stalking him, bothering him, asking question after question after question - those are practically the only things she's been doing ever since the kid woke up last night and now that he finally got her to attempt resting, there's no way in hell he'll let something like _this_ reach her ears.

Because _that_ if anything would be ugly.

"Think you boys can handle that, huh?" He drawls and the _boys_ are smart enough not to respond the baiting comment and for that, he's glad. They only nod, eyes nailed to the floor, and leave the room quietly.

Fucking great. As if he didn't have enough things on his mind because of the _royally_ fucked up situation, but now he's got to go and find the runaway child, who, _obviously_, can't take a fucking order? He t_old_ her to stay put, didn't he? Yes, he did. The damn doctor told her to stay put. Repeatedly. _Rogue_ told her to stay put… Although, honestly, after recovering from the shock and realizing just _what_ her mother had left untold, the kid hadn't exactly been in the mood to listen to a single word the woman had to say.

Not that he'd blame her. That was to be expected. Running away? That was kind of expected, too, which is exactly _why_ he ordered his men to watch the kid in the first place. Oh, well, you get what you pay for. Never sleep with an X-Man.

The good thing is he only has to think about it for five minutes, if even that, before it becomes perfectly clear to him where she'll most likely be. How he can tell, he doesn't know, but he's got a hunch and that's that. The thought of fatherly instincts doesn't actually cross his mind at all.

_Man._ Some security system upgrading is needed, that's for sure. If they can't even find a little girl without his help, well, then something's obviously wrong. He sighs, wiping his face as if to chase away the exhaustion and then, pushes himself to get on the move.

John finds her from the roof, standing on the edge and looking down..

It's almost dark already, _cold,_ and he figures that's why she's wearing one of his jackets - not that she'd need it, if she actually knew how to control her power better. She's so small, though, so fucking tiny, that it's actually more like the jacket is wearing her; she is drowning in it, he notes, and somewhere deep inside him something stirs.

What the hell have they been teaching her in that school of hers if she can't even handle the cold? He'll just have to look into that, won't he?

She heard the door open, recognized the soft creak, and so she knows someone's there, but doesn't look over her shoulder to see who exactly dares to disturb her.

Plus, he has a feeling she knows already.

For a minute and a half John simply stands there in weirdly peaceful silence, but soon enough he finally figures it's time to move. The kid will freeze her ass off soon if they don't.

"What you doing here?" He asks, calm, and closes the door behind him. The wind blows her hair, and his, and yeah, it _is_ damn cold, but it doesn't bother him. Not for long, because the moment the cold starts to eat its way through his skin, his temperature rises on its own and all is good again.

She inhales loudly, almost as if to deliver a point and says, "The view, it's pretty amazing." Pretty self-explanatory, right?

Maybe, but it doesn't sound like something a kid would say and honestly, something about her appearance seems weird, too. Different, somehow - almost as if the truth had added a decade to her age. He frowns and takes a hesitant step closer. Fine, it's true he hasn't spent that much time near her, not this close anyway and he can't deny that… but fuck, he _knows_ her. What is _this?_

But he lets that go and drags his attention back to her comment… right, the view. Well, considering it's a damn skyscraper and a tall one at that, "Yeah," he agrees softly, "I know it is, but you really don't have to stand on the damn ledge to see it." When she doesn't seem to get the hint -or pretends she doesn't, that is-, John's eyes narrow, flashing, and he takes yet another step forward, only this time determined one. He practically ordered her to _move_ and she knows that… yet nothing happens.

Is she _disobeying_ him? To his face? No, not gonna work, kiddo.

That is why he, with the kind of demanding voice he normally uses only on his employees, adds, "Get down."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Shelby snaps in irritation and throws a dirty glare over her shoulder before returning her eyes to the fall in front of her. When she speaks again, her voice is much composed, flavored with both sadness and anger, but still it's nothing more but a mere statement, "you're not my father."

The fire in his veins surges hotter; the rage washes through. Oh, he isn't? Since when? He knew she'd be there, didn't he? And, hell, _he_ was the one to come after her. He could've just as well told those _idiots_ to come and correct their mistake.

He _didn't._

That's got to mean something, even to her.

It might not be on her birth certificate - for which she can't actually blame him anyway, but, "Like it or not, kid, I am," John tells, consciously ignoring the slight sensation of disappointment at her claim. And maybe, just _maybe_, it's the same disappointment and his _attempt_ to ignore it that makes him chuckle and say, just out of spite, "Actually, I even think it's _my_ genes in that DNA cocktail of yours that told you to come up here. Great place to think and brood, you know."

Like anyone who has spent enough time near Logan, _Wolverine,_ she knows sarcasm when she hears it, but instead of arguing, she surprises him with a surrendering shrug and a question he never knew to expect, "Did you kill them yet?" Now she actually turns around, meeting his eyes in a cold stare - only, from her eyes, the coldness fades away quickly and all that is left is easily detectable _curiosity._

"It depends," John responds with a casual shrug of his own, trying not think about how fucking huge the fall will be if she misses a step, "Who?"

And they say he's smart? Whatever. "It's not like they could've done anything to stop me," she goes on with sad voice, "They fear me now."

Ah, right, he gets it then. "Oh, _them._ No, I didn't kill them," he tells her. _Yet._

He should've known, though. So fucking typical for _her_ kid to care about something as meaningless as that. His kid shouldn't, but yeah, trust her to fuck the kid's DNA for good. Like the whole killer skin wasn't enough. Not that he'd have anything against the skin, of course not, but he's got to admit it was _different_ when it was Rogue. But why it was, that's something he chooses _not_ to contemplate.

One question at a time.

"I glared at them, that's all" he continues then, indifferent, "but it seemed to work just the same."

She tilts her head and the way she does, it knots his insides… and makes him go back to the first time he saw her. How the fuck could he not _see_ it then; _feel_ it? Even now, he can _sense_ her, practically _smell_ the fire within and it's the kind of connection he never thought he'd have. Whether it's a good thing or bad, he hasn't decided yet, but it doesn't exactly seem that bad, does it?

"It's not that I care about whether you kill them or not," she says almost as if she'd read his mind and noted he's done with that particular train of thought, "I was just curious."

Okay, how the fuck is he supposed to react to that, huh? What, is he supposed to tell her _good_ because really, she shouldn't care about those guys anyway, she's above them for fuck's sake, or to chide her for being so-

Wait, who the hell is he kidding here?

"_Good,"_ he tells meaningfully and smiles faintly. She on the other hand says nothing, just nods, accepting and glances to her side. Another silent moment passes by, only this time with her staring fixedly, away, and with him just watching her. _Seeing_ her.

He knows; _feels_ what she's doing even before she does it. Or, better yet, even before she herself _knows_ it. Maybe it's the connection telling him beforehand, or the years behind him, but the moment she absent-mindedly summons her power and ignites the small flame in her fingers, he's already fixed his anxious gaze on her hand. At first it's a poor spark, then an uncontrolled flame, but as the realization dawns in and she actually _does _notice, it morphs into a neat bolt.

"Show off," he snorts, but it comes out somehow wrong. Amused, _soft_.

Rogue had told him about this; he'd _known_ what she can do - what _he_ can do, but _more_ and his stomach squeezes with pride and pain and _fuck!_ Still… he's mesmerized; can't look away. So he watches in silence, enjoying the familiar, almost _identical_ way she plays with the bolt… before cruelly suffocating it into her fist.

That is when she finally looks up and as her eyes catch his again, _accusing_, the spell is broken - it's like a cold smack against his face and the nearly visible smile disappears completely.

"I used to think they were lies," she says innocently and so child-like, the way she's supposed to be, but he knows better. Something in this picture is so utterly wrong that it makes sick to his stomach, twisting inside. And well, that alone is wrong, because n_othing_ is allowed to make him feel sick. Unless it involves a hangover and-

His eyebrows furrow as a clear sign of confusion. What the fuck is she talking about, anyway? And, more importantly, what the hell did those white coats give her? Is that it, is she _high_ on something?

"Yeah, seriously," she insists, though he never even argued, "but that woman, _Emma_… Frost, whatever her name was, her mind told me differently."

Her mind… told differently? What the fuck?

"About you," the girl continues, explaining and spreads her arms to her side, creating imaginary wings, "About mom."

Okay, that's it. Even he can't handle everything.

"Get down, now," John orders suddenly, strict, but it doesn't come as a surprise to her, "I'm not gonna tell you again."

It's not a lie and she can tell - it's always the same with Mom. The feeling… But something forces her to say otherwise, "You will," she tells him defiantly… and, as he notes, smiles maliciously.

Oh, says who? Yeah, wouldn't be too sure about that. The kid obviously doesn't know everything yet - at least nothing of value, he figures, because no one, absolutely _no one,_ gives him a smile -or is that a _smirk?-_ as defiant as that. She'll learn, eventually and he'll make sure of that. Rogue's methods are a thing of a past, that's a stone hard fact.

"Hey, kid," he chucks viciously, "for your information, I'm not afraid of you."

Seriously. Either she's stepping down on her own, right now, or he's forcing her down. And after that, he decides, he'll just drag her downstairs to the infirmary and tell the fucking doctors to do their damn job and figure out what the _hell_ is wrong with his little girl! Also, he'll be sure to point out that they _will_ do that if they care about their pathetic lives, at all, because he's running out of patience and that's never good.

They know that. At least they should.

"It's not like you can stop me either," she points out matter-of-factly, interrupting his unvoiced rambling and for that, John simply gives her a knowing look.

"I didn't fear your mother," he says truthfully, "or her skin and I'm not about to start now."

The claim draws a frown out of the little girl, because while she can _tell_ his words are true, she's still having trouble believing it. Probably because hell, "I could kill you."

She's got a point, naturally, but she's so young and there are so many things she doesn't understand. Life's nothing without a little risk, right? "Yeah, well," he shrugs it off, eyes on her, "a bird could shit on my head any day but it doesn't keep me from going out."

Shelby seems to think his words over, which gives him the most perfect opportunity to close the gap between them and grab her arm. Within a second and with a swift jerk, she's finally off the ledge and on the ground on her knees. He's pretty sure it hurt, a little, but she doesn't let out a single whimper or cry a tear.

That's his girl, all right.

John stays hunched over her, holds her arm firmly to drive his point home and only after a moment, leans closer and tells her, "you're not as tough as you act." But he sure appreciates the effort.

Then, just as suddenly, she's pulled up and onto her own two feet and the minute she is, he takes a step back. John doesn't look apologetic, mainly because he isn't, and she in turn doesn't seem angry like he assumed she would.

_Mainly,_ because she isn't.

But she is curious. "Where is she?" The girl asks, clearly forgetting -or wanting to forget, anyway- the previous subject as well as the stunt he just pulled.

Who, Rogue? Or, he corrects in aftermath, in this case, it'd probably be _Marie_. "Sleeping," John answers, but cautiously, because you never know… maybe she's trying to distract him, lull him into false sense of security before rushing to claw his eyes out the same way her mother always does… it could be genetic or something. "Or she's trying, anyway," he adds with one-sided shrug.

She bites her bottom lip the way he knows she always does when there's a question ransacking her brain. He's seen it before.

Just ask, kid. Fire away.

"In your bed?"

Okay, stop right there. Admittedly, it's not the question he thought he'd get, but whatever, at least she's still not attacking him. Now… sure, he could tell her the simple truth. He _could_ tell the kid that _yes_, in his bed, but only because it was the only place where she seemed to calm down enough to sleep - or where he could lure her and lock her into, which is closer to the truth anyway, but instead he sucks his lip thoughtfully before asking, "Why, does it matter?"

The look on Shelby's face doesn't change, it's as indifferent, as empty as it's been throughout most of the conversation. All she does, is shake her head with a quiet "no" while trying to remove the swirling locks from her face by tucking them behind her ear. They don't stay there for longer than a second, though.

She's shivering again, which to John's ardent surprise, is something he actually _really_ doesn't like to see. It brings back last night and he doesn't like that, either.

"Listen," he starts, clearing his throat, "we're gonna sort this out and you're gonna be okay." Technically, it's not a lie. If the obvious weirdness is set aside, she seems pretty _okay_ already. "Your mom's been harassing my men for hours and I'm pretty sure she'll continue that as soon as she's allowed to leave my room."

Which, if he had his way, would be, well, _never._ Because the moment he unlocks the door and lets the furious woman out, she'll be at his face with clenched fists and keep harassing _him_ the same way she's been bothering his staff non-stop and that's something he'd like to avoid by any means necessary. Maybe he could tie her up and-

A whisper interrupts his master plan. "She lied to me," she says, sad.

Yeah, well, welcome to his life. "Yeah, well," John responds cynically, "she had her reasons."

For fuck's sake… _why_ did he tell her that? He isn't supposed to say a word to make it easier for _her_, not for Rogue. Let the woman clean up her own fucking mess - that's the plan. Or it was.

At least his words have an effect - something in her eyes changes. They come to life and _that_ he does like.

"Why are you defending her?" Shelby asks, voice thick - this time it holds signs of anger and frustration, "Even you hate her for lying."

No, not actually - you see, "I don't hate her, kid," he corrects. He used to hate her? Check. He wants to hate her? Check. "I'm angry at her, furious, pissed off. But there's a big difference, you know."

In all honesty? The only time he's ever hated her… that was when she took the cure. Definite _check._

"What's the cure?" She prompts immediately, but he chooses to ignore her question… which, he supposes, is probably not the best option to go with, but fuck, he's not gonna be the one to tell the kid about that. No, not when there's a chance she might damn well _want_ it, in which case, he'd have to also be the one to tell her she can't. Not ever.

So, instead, he goes with the second best option and distracts her by asking a question of his own. "Why did you touch her?" It's actually been bothering him more or less ever since Rogue explained him the details of what happened and well, Magneto _did_ teach him to never let an opportunity go wasted.

She fidgets and brushes her chin against her shoulder to avoid his eyes.

But when she does speak, her eyes return his again - and it makes his skin crawl.

Demanding. _Pleading_. "Don't tell mom, okay?"

If it was anyone else, any other situation, he'd probably decline for no reason. Actually, not probably - he _would _decline for no reason and he'd enjoy it, too. But it doesn't occur to him this time… maybe it's okay for him to blame it on the connection, on her _genes_, on the fact she's got his eyes, because damn, he hears himself agreeing, "Okay."

Suddenly she tears her eyes from his and gazes the floor… and _giggles_ slightly.

He frowns, more than little puzzled. What, she giggled? Alright, interesting… and definitely not something he expected to hear from her mouth. Like, _ever_ again.

When she lifts her chin again, there's a bright _smirk_ on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes and she says, mischievously and not a bit sorry, "I wanted to burn her brains."

Her words, they bring his trademark smirk back to its rightful throne.

"Yep," John tells her with an amused snort, "Definitely my genes, kid."


	4. somnolence

TITLE: Somnolence (it's all about banked embers) syrai Normal syrai 2 4 2008-03-23T01:28:00Z 2008-03-23T01:32:00Z 2 1636 9327 Hewlett-Packard 77 18 11454 9.3821 21

**TITLE:** Somnolence _(it's all about banked embers)_  
**FANDOM:** X-Men post X3  
**SERIES:** UNVEILED (4/5)  
**RATING:** PG (i think?)  
**WORD COUNT:** about 1800  
**WARNINGS:** some bad language, is all  
**PAIRING:** (implied) Rogue/Pyro  
**SUMMARY:** It also worries him, a little, because there's always been only _one thing_ in the whole world that has ever managed to calm his nerves like nothing else - and it has always, _always_ been fire. Just fire. Up until now, it would seem.  
**PROMPT:** 032 doll  
**A/N:** I know you probably want to throw sticks and stones at me for not getting this done sooner -- and when you find out this isn't even the smut part I promised but that it'll come next, well... I know, I'm sorry! Heh. It's safe to say I suffered from a huge writer's block and the fact I felt guilty about it, well, it didn't help. Anyway. Now we're again getting somewhere (for now), yay! So, anyways, Rogue will be in the next (and final!) part of UNVEILED, trust me on that!

Special thanks go out to both  
· INFIE for coming up with the title and for being the divine ryro-vibe, as usual.  
· GOBLIE for there's no better cheerleader in the world (not even in Heroes!) Plus, she spent like _hours_ talking about the language of this fic and all sorts of weird grammatical stuff and for that, I owe her hugs**DISCLAIMER:** The characters you know from X-Men (both movieverse as well as the comics)? NOT MINE. The characters you don't recognize, at all (as in, Shelby)? Guess whose?

**SOMNOLENCE (it's all about banked embers)**

_Click, click, click._

The metallic sounds echo in the dimly lit spaces, roam around the expensively furnished hallway and visit the small bedroom it's connected to. To think of it, the sharp noises can probably be heard through-out the whole flat, but John Allerdyce's not that concerned about it. _At all_, actually.

Well, _shit,_ it _is_ his flat anyways--

or it was before they took over with their hairbrushes and lipglosses and God knows what else.

And hell if he isn't entitled to do whatever the fuck he wants inside these damn walls just _because!_

The sooner the two ladies learn and memorize _that_ small piece of information, the better for everyone!

_And!_--

He heaves a tired sigh while rolling his shoulders in another wasted attempt to release the strain and then, against all odds, simply _lets_ the train of thought go. No doubt it's a battle he's determined to win, at some point, but just not in this red instance... Seeing as there's no one with whom to actually _battle_ besides himself.

At least not awake, that is.

It's become a habit of sorts, one that she's entirely aware of though she never shows it. Every single time he leaves the flat, no matter what, he stops there at her door to look at her for a moment. Be it a fleeting second or a minute or two, he stops and stands and _stares_ in complete silence, never saying a word. Never expecting a word, either.

On most occasions the kid ignores John on purpose and simply turns her back to the unwanted visitor continuing whatever it was that he walked in on.

Sometimes she's way stealthier than that - that's when she chooses to pretend she's asleep, clearly thinking her _father_ can't tell the difference. But he can, easily. He's not sure why, or how, but he's smart enough to realise it's probably got something to do with the _fire_ in their veins because in the most peculiar way, even the air around her feels different somehow when she's actually up and alert. Warm, fierce... electric.

The bedroom door is open, like he's noticed it often is and _still_ – or maybe because of that, the little girl is sleeping as soundly as if there was no one there watching her in the dark. The fact that her deep slumber doesn't seem a bit bothered by his sudden presence or by the sounds his lighter keeps making, brings a proud, dare say, victorious smirk to his lips.

He whispers, "Good girl" to no one in particular, but what he really means to say is '_my girl'_ and those words are meant for her.

After a few minutes go by, he fidgets like only a nervous man does. And then, almost as if to test how cold the waters truly are, he tries something he hasn't before. Not ever.

John takes a hesitant step closer, cocking his head in anticipation but nothing happens. Then a few more, _one, two, three, four_ or so, all the way across the room until he reaches the bed. He stops only when the wooden edge is so close it's nearly touching his legs. He waits, but his patience only lasts for a moment. A very _short_ moment, too, after which he continues the same old routine of-

_Click, click, click._

He's been doing it, clicking the lighter, right there in hearing distance for about five minutes now - perhaps even longer, he can't tell for sure. Truthfully so, he tried to keep track of time, really, _he did_, but managed to lose the count of the clock's ticks (and the _clicks_ of his own making) awhile ago.

There's one thing he's sure of though, and it's that all the while he's stood there, hovered above her like a ghost in the night, she has _not_ moved a muscle. Hasn't made a single sound or shown any signs of disturbance. Even the steady rhythm of her breathing has stayed the same ever since he first entered the room.

Or, you know, if anything, the rhythm has only got steadier, more even, _more_ peaceful.

There's something warm and soothing prickling in the core of his spine and it takes a moment before he understands it's _her._

The realisation wipes off the malicious smirk, completely – and while he's too busy to notice it, the dying smirk leaves only a gentle smile in its wake. Naturally, if he _did_ notice, the smile would be gone in the matter of seconds... but it doesn't change the fact it's there, _now._

Not knowing what to do, how to proceed exactly, he goes with the only option he can come up with. A careful _click_ followed by a short pause. The kind of pause during which he tilts his head again, observing, _wondering_, and another round of _clicks_ cut the air. Just in spite. _Just_ to see. To know for sure.

This time she lets out a muffled sound, something that could be defined either as a snarl or a purr (or a bit of both) and he's tempted to laugh aloud. Instead, the smile only softens.

Twenty minutes and counting. Or more, whatever, what does it matter anyway?

With no plans for the evening he's in no obvious hurry and she's, as proven, fast asleep. It's the middle of the night, later even, and there's nothing and no one expecting him, nowhere.

Well, just Scarlet, maybe. That, however, is no cause for worry; has never been. He knows her and the way her mind works, and she sure as hell _knows_ him. Knows him better than to stay up and _wait_ for an appearance that might or might not take place at all, depending on his stormy mood. He's slept in her bed for six nights in a row, there's no denying that, but somehow he doesn't feel like leaving the kid alone… nor Rogue. Not tonight, anyway.

_Why not, John?_ Nothing's changed. So, why the _hell_ not?

He'd like to think it's just temporary, just for tonight. Maybe it is.

_Who cares, honestly?_ He growls at himself, frustrated as hell, because fuck, _no one cares, absolutely no one and hell-_

Only, damnit, it's a lie and he can tell. It sucks, really, but he does _care._

Moreover, realising that, it irritates him and makes his skin crawl; the tension headache is already there, eating its way from the back of his skull to the front. He's John Allerdyce, _Pyro_ for fuck's sake and _he_ of all mutants, he's not supposed to care or worry about stupid, irrelevant things-

about _them._

Because even when it's not known to all, there's still a _war_ raging between the different stages of evolution and in that struggle, there's no place for such a thing as caring. It's a damn character flaw, a weakness, that's what it is... and he cannot afford those.

So, yes, it's freaking him out, the fact he sort of does _care_ (even if it's just a little), and he doesn't want to think about it more. _So, don't._ And he tries not to.

The mutant lets his eyes focus on the sleeping figure to try and keep his mind from dwelling upon those highly unnerving thoughts. She's put herself in a somewhat odd position, at least he thinks she has and if he wasn't so damn afraid of waking her up, he'd move her a little. Just enough to ensure she won't cut off her own blood circulation or something.

Well, she's a _kid_ and they are known to be idiotic, at times. In other words, anything is possible.

He figures it's a reasonable worry since she's lying on her right side, stiff as ever with fingers laced together and placed underneath her chin in a (what he thinks to be) rather self-protective manner. He's pretty sure her back will kill her tomorrow but then, she _is_ a kid so, maybe not. Half of her cheek is covered with brown locks of bushy hair as the side of her face is resting against the pillow - on which, he notes with a hanging smirk, there's also something that looks a lot like a small pool of drool.

But the amusement doesn't last for long, as in the next minute, the sight actually summons back a nearly lost memory.

That one night years and years ago, the _first_ and _only_ night, that is how her _mother_ looked when he woke up next to her. That's _exactly_ how she looked when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, careful not to wake her up. And she remained the same while he gathered his wrinkled clothes from the floor and _left_ her to greet the morning on her own.

The kid, he has to admit, she's as beautiful as her mother has always been - but then, he likes to think his genes have got something to do with it, too, and that it's not all _her_. Well, she's got his gift, does she not?

And in the aftermath of that one simple thought, his shoulders relax, the headache disappears and the air, it flows all the way to his lungs and out again, free of all restraints. Such a simple thing and yet, he's missed that. A lot.

It also worries him, a little, because there's always been only one thing in the whole world that has ever managed to calm his nerves like nothing else - and it has always, _always_ been fire. Just fire.

Up until now, it would seem.

But maybe, he concludes with a knowing grin and a quick quirk of an eyebrow, _maybe_ it's all 'cause in the end-

she _was_ born from fire, wasn't she?

It's an hour and half (and lots and lots of _clicks_) later that he decides it'd be best to give up on staring and _just go to bed._ It's not like she wouldn't be safe and secure if he left the room, or even the building. Hell, he could even leave the country if he wanted to and be sure of her safety... It's not likely for his men to make the same mistake twice, so.

Yet knowing all that makes no difference and even after he's ordered his body to move (several times), commanded himself to get out of her room and go to his own, a moment later he's still _right there_ beside her bed like a statue, watching.

_Protecting._

(For another hour and half.)

A lot later, when John finally _does_ move, it's only because he knows that when she wakes up in the morning, she'll wake up to find his lighter standing on her nightstand and she'll _understand_ what it means--

even if he doesn't.

Still, for now, it's enough.


End file.
